


Code Name Movie Night

by RembrandtsWife



Series: Code Name Fanfic [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Interracial Relationship, Oral Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Equality' means we can *all* sleep our way to our desired goal, regardless of sex, gender, or sexual orientation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Code Name Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> I kept wishing for more Eve/Q and other m/f pairings from the Craig Bond movies, so I decided I'd just have to write it myself. Thanks to nookienostradamus for having a look at this and being encouraging.

Q didn't flinch at the light tap on his shoulder from behind. Of course not: He could see Moneypenny's reflection in multiple monitors.

"Are you up for Movie Night?"

Eve tended to sound flirtatious by default. It was all part of being Moneypenny. Q kept his reply strictly clear of innuendo. "Yes, I'm up for it. Got to stay on a bit longer, though--will you pick up dinner?"

She nodded. "Chinese?"

He didn't look at her but at the monitors, his fingers debugging, untangling, resolving. "That's fine. You know what I like."

"Uh-huh." He didn't flinch at the little parting pinch on the bum she gave him, either.

It was over an hour before he presented himself at Eve's flat, nearly cross-eyed with code and hunger, but the food was hot and a movie was in the DVD player. Q let Moneypenny stuff him with bits of dumpling, rolls, rice, sips of soup and sips of tea, while they watched a Peter Greenaway film about a Japanese woman who liked to have her lovers write calligraphy on her body. Ewan McGregor flitted about mother-naked through much of it.

As the credits rolled Q drained his cup for the last time. "Don't get any bright ideas, Moneypenny. I'm not letting you write 'I heart James Bond' all over my back in indelible marker.

Eve's first kiss tasted of laughter and plum sauce. Q sighed deeply, gladly lying back on the couch and letting her settle atop him to make free with his mouth and his neck and his hair. His hair and Eve's hair had a sort of mutual appreciation society. Q's hands appreciated the lovely dip of her lower back and the flowing curve of her buttock, the wonderful mobility of her spine from neck to sacrum as she settled into him and took possession of him.

He sighed again when she slid away, slipping to the floor like a silk handkerchief and somehow not overturning the coffee table with its cups and cartons. Her confident brown hand inside his trousers found him warm but only half-hard.

"The spirit is entirely willing, but the flesh is stuffed with those little shrimp things you bought two cartons of…."

"No rush," she assured him, unzipping his fly. He watched her unfasten his trousers, pull them down his legs--his shoes had been discarded hours ago, just inside the door--toss them away. She ran her hands up and down his legs, as she often did: Thin but muscular, shell-white skin and dark curling hair.

"That feels nice." Eve rubbed her thumbs over the balls of his feet a few more times before bending in close to press her lips to his prick through the fabric of his briefs. Mm, that directed some of his autonomic systems' attention from his digestion to the organs further down. Sensing a reaction, Eve kissed around the outline of his thickening cock, then around the furred circle of his navel, before peeling off his briefs and taking his socks with them.

Q wiggled his toes, first for the sensation of freedom and then for the sensation of Eve's moist lips addressing the head of his cock. She took hold of the shaft and lifted him to her mouth, squeezing gently and not quite rhythmically as she flicked her tongue on the good spot just under the head, then sucked the whole glans into her mouth. He liked watching her, but it felt too good for his tired eyes to stay focused. He let one hand drift into her hair and his eyes roll back in his head, his hips lift entreatingly. 

No rush, Eve had said, and she didn't; it seemed like a long and languid era before she took the whole of him in her mouth, bobbing her head like the women in porn. It took him a long time to get fully hard, just because he'd worked the last ten days straight, and he was tired, and his belly was full, but he wanted Eve's company, he wanted Eve's pussy, he wanted to come, and he sat up, abruptly, and straightened his glasses.

Eve stood up, smooth and graceful. "Let's go to bed, then," and she turned away, pulling off her dress over her head and showing him her perfect bare back, no bra, no panties. He hadn't even noticed as he was caressing her.

Q scrambled off the couch, his prick bobbing like a buoy in choppy waters. "Honestly, Moneypenny, I think you just like to see me walking around like this." The little smile she cast over her shoulder did nothing to correct his impression, or to quell his arousal.

The bed was already turned down, or unmade, it didn't matter. Eve turned and toppled onto it, spreading her legs invitingly as though she had read Q's mind. No doubt she had. He settled between her sleek brown thighs, rubbing his prick happily against the duvet, and nuzzled at the crisp curls on her mound.

"You let it grow back. Mm…." The first time they had sex during Movie Night, she had been utterly bare everywhere, waxed so smooth even her pubic mound gleamed. Her underarms and legs remained that way, but she'd allowed the curls to grow back on her crotch, because he had asked it. He pressed his nose in and inhaled, musk and sweat and a hint of sandalwood from her bath gel.

Eve shivered, half-ticklish, half-pleased. Q took the hint and dipped his tongue between the labia, into the gleam of salty-sweet juice on plum-dark flesh. Eve hummed encouragingly, and he licked up to her clitoris, spreading her a bit, exposing the inner labia, which were a deep rose pink slicked with pleasure. He knew she disliked it if a lover went straight for the clit, so he lapped at her for a bit, stroking over the labia, coaxing out more honey, watching her flesh swell with arousal. He rubbed himself persistently on the covers, not hard but steadily.

He took her hard bud of clitoris between his lips, first, mouthing softly; licked over it with his tongue flat, not too hard; circled it with the tip of his tongue and was rewarded with a hard jerk of the hips, mashing her pussy against his face. Trying not to smile too obviously, he flicked her clit deliberately, flick flick flick with his tongue pointed as much as he could, one arm wrapped around her thigh and the other arm free so he could slide two fingers in and press forward, making her buck and writhe and come.

"Bastard," she hissed, fingers twining hard in his hair. Eve loathed having her hair pulled; Q rather liked having his pulled, as she knew. He sucked on her, loudly, lewdly, and tried for three fingers, successfully. Eve shrieked and bore down and he pulled back, saw her squirt over his hovering hand.

"Get on your back, boy," Eve growled. Q complied happily and took a grip on his cock, holding it steady for her to mount. "Good boy," she was breathless now, planting one hand on his chest, her long legs twining around his. "Just like that--"

With a little help from his fingers on her breasts and clit, Eve managed two more good, solid orgasms before Q had to let go and have his own. She held him down with the weight of her thighs and her hands on his biceps and her mouth at his throat, and the orgasm went on so long he felt no need to envy Eve her multiple capacity.

When he opened his eyes at last, she was lighting a cigarette. She made an offering gesture and he managed to nod. He'd smoked heavily for his first year at uni, but made himself taper off; nowadays the post-coital fag was his only regular indulgence. He dragged himself more or less into a sitting position, and they puffed companionably, side by side.

He burped, loudly. "Not so many shrimp pouches next time."

"You didn't have to eat them all."

"I was hungry! And you kept waving them in front of my face on those pretty lacquered chopsticks."

"Well, you kept opening those pretty red lips of yours as if you wanted more."

They looked at each other and laughed. "Haven't got a leg over recently, have you, Q?"

"Not since the last time we had Movie Night." They'd watched The Avengers at Q's place, and he'd made a fresh pizza and put it in the oven. Homemade pizza was one of his specialities.

"Thought you were shagging Bond."

Q looked at Eve. She fluttered her lashes. "Are you joking? That man's all talk and no action, at least when it comes to boys. Flirts a lot, but he's not the one pinching my bum, that's you. I think he must be working his way through the secretarial pool between missions."

"Then he'll have to shag a few boys, if that's what he's doing. It's not all girls like it used to be." She drew out "girls" into a very long, very posh syllable.

"Honestly, I'm not sure Bond has sex any more if it's not part of the job. What if having a friendly shag got to be like practice on the shooting range, just keeping your hand in--or your cock?" Eve guffawed. "I feel sorry for him if it's like that. And such a pretty man, really. If he wants a change, I wouldn't turn him down."

Eve tapped the ash off her fag and then stubbed it out. Q gestured and she passed him the ashtray so he could do the same. "If you want to know the truth," she said slowly, "I don't think he's been the same since M died. Mrs. Mansfield, I mean."

Q drew a long breath. "Well, you're not the only one who's noticed that. And she's not the only person who mattered to him who's died recently, you know."

Eve sniffed. "*I* don't go poking around in people's files the way *some* people do. But there was something about him and M--him and Mansfield."

"She was like a mother to him," Q said, in a sanctimonious tone worthy of an undertaker.

"Only if his real name was Oedipus," Eve snorted. It was Q's turn to guffaw. "Do you know what his real name is, incidentally?"

"I've seen it but I've forgotten it. He's James Bond now, that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"At least I got to keep my Christian name," Eve mused. "You got cut down to one letter, like M. The higher the rank, the less you keep."

"Don't feel sorry for me, love. I'd much rather be Q than plain old--" He didn't say his legal name. He hadn't been that person for some time now.

"Would it shock you," she turned to him, "if I said I thought he was in love with Mansfield?"

"No more than it would shock me if I learned Mansfield had been in love with her M, once upon a time. Or even with Bond." He looked at her shrewdly. "So have you had Mallory yet?"

That question, apparently, was shocking enough to bring up a visible blush on her cheeks. "He's not my type!" she managed to answer.

"I'll bet you're his type, though." He reached for another cigarette, past Eve's accusing glare. "I don't mean he likes slender young beauties of color, though who knows, he might. He might be queerer than dear Oscar Wilde, for all I know. But what I mean is you're perfectly placed to be his protege. The double-oh agents don't make M. We all know that. But you've got fieldwork on your record, you're working closely with him, and wouldn't it be feather in his cap if he could groom the first woman of color to be M as his successor. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

Eve was fidgeting with a second fag and the lighter. "Of course I have. But I won't have it said I slept my way to the top."

"Oh, don't worry about that, my dear. 'Equality' means we can *all* sleep our way to our desired goal, regardless of sex, gender, or sexual orientation." He gave her his best cheeky grin.

"And who did you sleep with to get promoted to head of Q Branch, hm, at your age?" She poked him in the ribs. 

"I'm cybersexual, my dear." He tapped the spot on his forehead where he'd collided with a marble table as a child; the mark was still there, which was why he preferred to wear a long fringe. "How do you think I keep the computers purring along so nicely? Got a little USB port, right up here--"

Eve was still laughing when he got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a beer.


End file.
